


maneater

by RedAnthem



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Femslash, Oneshot, Pre-Canon, Rarepair, Sexual Tension, Smoking, because they are who they are, dedicated to all the mean old girlbosses out there, well more like femslash with a healthy heap of sexual antagonism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 17:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30092388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedAnthem/pseuds/RedAnthem
Summary: They’re both hunters of men, but two different creatures entirely. Cha-Cha/The Handler.
Relationships: Cha-Cha & Hazel (Umbrella Academy), Cha-Cha/The Handler (Umbrella Academy), background Number Five | The Boy/The Handler (Umbrella Academy)
Kudos: 4





	maneater

**Author's Note:**

> None of you may have asked for this but just trust me when I say that this is what you need. Dedicated to all the mean old girlbosses out there. Don't let morality or feelings get in the way of building your empire queens

Cha-Cha opens the doors to the Handler’s office. She doesn’t bother knocking. It’s unprofessional, sure, but she knew the other woman was too self-aware to ever call her out on it.

“If it isn’t Cha-Cha,” the Handler calls back. 

“Ma’am.”

She’s doing something stupid on the floor—got some spacey music playing in the background, her head tucked in front of one of her legs. Her platinum blond hair is in a stiff ponytail, strangled by a scrunchie, and she’s wearing a sparkly silver leotard that makes her eyes look sharper, like steel. 

“Just doing some exercise, don’t mind me.”

Cha-Cha groans, not caring if the other woman can hear. The Handler just grins at her back, pearly-whites flashing through bright red lipstick. 

“What’s this about, anyway?”

The woman makes a show of unravelling out of the position she’s in on the floor; luxuriating in herself, arching her legs smoothly like a ballerina. Cha-Cha rolls her eyes. 

“I’ve got another job for you, and that dolt of a partner of yours. He’s not coming, is he?”

“Nah,” she replies, and falls into a cushioned burgundy chair in front of the other woman’s desk. 

Hazel didn’t like the Handler and he tried to avoid meeting with her whenever he could. Ages ago—must’ve been when they were first linked up as partners, which was God knows how long ago—they were both in this office, receiving the assignment briefs for their first mission together. He was dripping sweat all over the Manila folders, leaving his gross paw prints all over it.

When they left, he tried to make small talk; looking back, knowing what she knows about him and his habits now, he was trying to dispel some nerves. 

What was that he said? _Gosh, I feel like she was about to_ eat _me, you know?_

Cha-Cha had said nothing. 

She tosses her feet up on the corner of the desk. The Handler gives her a measured look, then passes her a cigar that she plucked out of a drawer. 

“I saved you a good one. A real Van Dyck Perfecto, 1941,” she says, and watches Cha-Cha wet it lightly with her tongue. The Handler flicks open her lipstick lighter for her, leaning over her desk on one side of her hip to get closer, like some French model. 

Cha-Cha meets her halfway. She gets only just close enough for the tip to feel the heat and get a pop of cherry red. She rotates the stick in her mouth, and her eyes meet the other woman’s through the growing plume of smoke. 

Then she leans back languidly, propping her feet back on the desk. She takes a puff. The smoke falls down her throat and lungs, and she exhales, letting it flow liquidly back through her mouth and barely-parted lips. She feels stared at, like the woman’s trying to dissect her with her eyes.

“So. What do you think?” The Handler arches a brow.

Cha-Cha makes a noise in her throat. “Nutty. Boring.”

The Handler hisses, and slides off her desk and into her chair, slouching in it. _“Picky.”_

“You just don’t know what I like,” Cha-Cha intones.

The other woman squints, reading her, her elbow on the armrest. Her hand lay limp, her sharp fingers tapping her rosy cheeks. Cha-Cha wondered if she ever cut herself on those claws.

She points at her. “I’ll figure you out Cha-Cha, someday. Mark my words.”

“Well, _I_ figure you should get to the point. Cuz you’re getting on my nerves.”

“Fine,” the Handler sighs, and gets out of her seat, crossing her arms behind her back, puffing her chest out. Cha-Cha doesn’t bother following her with her eyes as she does her little shark-circling-in-the-water routine. She doesn’t like being strung along. 

“It’s Five,” she says, her voice light and affected. “He thinks he can outplay me.”

And yet Cha-Cha’s being sent to play her games.

“And he probably could.”

The Handler encircles the back of Cha-Cha’s chair with her arms and rests her head on them, and giggles next to her ear. “Not if I have Hazel and Cha-Cha though, right?”

“You’re full of shit,” Cha-Cha says, “even more than usual.”

She can feel the woman pout behind her. “And you’re stiff and humorless, _even more than usual.”_

“How’d you even lose the guy in the first place? Last time I checked, you said you had him in the bag.”

“I do! I still do.”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Cha-Cha hums to herself, on the border of a laugh. “And now you’re sending Hazel and me. To chase down your ex.”

The woman gasps, like Cha-Cha actually hurt her feelings. It’s irritatingly false. Everything about the Handler is like plastic. She’s like some kind of cougar-Barbie doll. No wonder she fucks with Five so well; she must be his type.

“Who said anything about exes?” 

_Really? Like everyone at the Commission doesn’t know?_ “You fuck all your subords.”

“Only the boys,” the Handler argues. “And the nice girls who ask me. _Politely.”_

“Well, I don’t need to ask to know.”

“You don’t, Cha-Cha, you sure don’t,” the Handler chuckles. “Not like I’d want you, Plain Janie,” she says, just to get on her nerves. Playing with the intimate parts of people is her specialty. “I think you’re just jealous.”

Cha-Cha makes a face in response. “Jealous of _what?”_

“Jealous of the attention. Because you _know_ you’re not my favorite.”

She scoffs. “You couldn’t handle me.” 

The other woman steps toward her desk and leans on it, her whole body in view, chest still puffed like a bird’s. She’s got glittery socks on, too, sparkly ones with spiderwebs on them. She’s such a girl sometimes. “Are we so sure about that?”

 _“Try me.”_

The other woman stares down at her. Cha-Cha leans forward, legs parted and elbows on her knees, hands clasped together, her mouth in a hard line. 

She really hates working with this bitch sometimes. 

The Handler cracks. She never could figure Cha-Cha out. “Fine. I’ll fess up. Happy?”

“Elated.”

“I’m in the deep here. A.J.’s on my ass, Five’s gone off to stop the Apocalypse. You’re all I got, Cha-Cha. Well, you and the idiot.” 

So she lost him after all. Funny. The Handler’s not used to losing her toys, and now she’s throwing a fit over it like a little girl.

“This gonna be a difficult one?” Cha-Cha asks, already knowing the answer. She’s heard the legends about the old man. He caught management’s attention in the first place because of his utter refusal to die, after all. 

“Define difficult,” the Handler says. “He can be quite easy, depending on your approach.”

“I’m not you, you nasty bitch,” Cha-Cha says bluntly.

“Sure,” the woman responds casually. They both know the insult’s hardly an insult when it’s honest. “But he’s still… malleable, I guess you could say,” she smiles, a manicured nail tapping her red lips, sharp as a knife. “Still just a scared little boy on the inside. Never grew up. Ya know?” She stares at her cryptically, like she’s not just talking about the fear. 

The comment feels weird, and nothing like the image of Five the Legend that’s shoved into the heads of everyone at the Commission. Cha-Cha never knew the guy, and only ever saw him in passing. Though Hazel and her are the second-best of the Commissions’ hitmen, Five’s never around to talk, and she’s not much of a talker.

“I don’t know, actually,” she says. 

“You will, soon enough.”

These management types always like to leave surprises. Cha-Cha hates surprises. They make Hazel nervous, and when Hazel’s nervous he complains. She hoists herself up on her feet and shoves her hands into the pockets of her slacks. The other woman’s eyes track her every movement, like Cha-Cha’s a piece of meat. It doesn’t bother her—the woman looks at everyone that way, she was trained to, in her early days. It’s like she can’t help it.

Cha-Cha’s standing too close to the other woman now, close enough to smell the mixture of lavender and sweat and powdered makeup. Cha-Cha probably smells like smoke and gun oil to her. 

They’re both hunters of men, but two different creatures entirely.

She hears the stuffy desk employees talk about how savage she and Hazel are; how brutal they must be. They’ll do anything to get the job done. But Cha-Cha thinks she’s kinder than they think she is. At least she’s not like the Handler. The Handler likes playing with her food. 

“I’m going,” Cha-Cha says. “You’ll see me later.”

The Handler smiles wickedly. “I sure hope I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly screw TUA for ripping these mean old milfs away from me. TUA just can't stand to see a pair of #girlbosses win.  
> Talk to me on [tumblr](https://nerdkiller.tumblr.com)


End file.
